


Deep in the Cell of My Heart

by ptgreat



Series: Somebody Else's Robin [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Talon!Dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ptgreat/pseuds/ptgreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strike>Damian had always assumed Father's first Robin was dead.  Grayson's status as MIA was just a pathetic lie Batman told himself because he had no body to bury.</strike> HIATUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Birds Were Flying Overhead -- There Were No Birds to Fly

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to tackle this fic for Day 3 (Swap Day) of dD Week on tumblr (http://alley--oop.tumblr.com/about). For all that I've had this idea for a while, I've been struggling to actually write it. Bear with me, I'm flying by the seat of my pants.

Damian sneered at the three glass cases lined up in a neat little row. Each illuminated from the inside, each holding a pristine uniform that would never be worn by the child it had been made for. Robin was the mantle of dead, incompetent children. Out of the Batman’s four protégés, only Drake had survived to leave the role behind on his own terms. Grayson was still desperately labeled MIA, while Todd and Brown had each met their own messy ends. And yet Father refused him the title, a silent implication that Damian was somehow unworthy of the name. Never mind that he was the only one worthy to fight at the Batman’s side, a worth due to him by both birth and skill.

“You’re not ready,” Father had been telling him for the last four, almost five years, but Damian knew what he really meant, “I don’t trust you.”

So instead of learning the ins and outs of the city that by all rights would be his, he wasted his time and talent doing busy work that was better suited to someone like Drake, who enjoyed uselessly sitting in front of a computer for hours. Tonight he was updating Father’s files on the Court of Owls, whose activity had picked up noticeably in the last few months. Damian hardly saw the point in getting involved with the Court’s affairs when they weren’t actively trying to kill them. What did it matter that if there were a few dead Talons amongst the usual refuse of Gotham? Likely their renegade Talon was ruffling feathers again. Titus snuffled beside him and the Great Dane rested his large black head on Damian’s thigh. Damian absently provided him with head scritches. A shadow caught just in the periphery of one of Oracle’s more promising surveillance videos grabbed his attention. Or perhaps not. He straightened from his slouch and played the footage again, carefully watching the shadow instead of the soon to be corpse. There was little definition to the form but it was certainly too petite to be Rose. One of the Court’s fledglings? Father would be tickled pink to hear that: A murderous, brainwashed child running amuck in Gotham. He could already hear Drake’s snide voice, “Gee that doesn’t sound familiar at all.” For all that the young man had ended his Robin career for college and his idiot Titans, he was often unfortunately present at the manor. No, Damian moved the file into a different folder to be perused more at a later date, better not to mention it at all until he had more substantial evidence.

Titus perked up suddenly, barking excitedly and jumping around as the Batmobile revved into the cave. Damian frowned and stood. It wasn’t even 2:00 a.m., far too early for Father to end his patrol. There hadn’t been anything over the com to alert Damian to an emergency, but the last time Batman had broken his nightly routine Drake was well on his way to death by exsanguination. The engine had barely stopped rumbling before Batman flung the driver’s side door open.

“Alfred!” he shouted, his voice oddly frail despite its volume.

“Yes, sir?”

Of course, Pennyworth was already at the bottom of the stairs. Damian might have considered the butler’s uncanny ability to appear before he was needed for the umpteenth but his focus was on the small, limp body clutched to his father’s chest. He was fairly certain it was a boy, but he couldn’t be sure. His slack, too pale face was androgynous and his ink black hair was indistinctly styled, much shorter than Mother cared to cut her own but longer than some of the styles he’d seen the Kyle woman wear. He was…pretty, and wrapped up in Father’s arms, he looked fragile, a porcelain doll that had already been broken.

Damian kept his distance while Father and Pennyworth closed ranks around the unconscious stranger, after Father laid him out on the medical table. The man pulled back the cowl and ran a hand through his hair. Pennyworth laid out a line of sterile syringes and several vials. Titus had finally calmed enough to cease his noise but the dog was tense beside Damian, his hindquarters quivering with restrained movement. Damian placed a hand on the animal’s head and scowled. Who was this intruder that had garnered Father’s undivided attention?

“Master Bruce.”

Damian tried to identify the older man’s tone. Questioning? Hopeful? Heartbroken?

“I need to be sure, Alfred. I,” Father closed his eyes, “I need to be sure.”

“Of course, sir.”

Sure of what? Damian gave up trying to read either man’s face. What little they were giving away, he didn’t understand. Instead he studied the cause of all this confusing fussing. What was it about him that had shaken two of the most unshakable beings Damian had ever known? Even with Father’s unfortunate habit of collecting troubled youths, he would not bring just anyone to the cave. Except, Damian cocked his head, this wasn’t just anyone. He almost walked forward but aborted the movement mid-step. This was Richard Grayson, older but not old enough.


	2. The Eldest Oyster Winked His Eye, And Shook His Heavy Head

Dick Grayson was twelve years old on a field trip to the Gotham City Art Museum with the rest of his sixth grade class when he disappeared. No witnesses. No camera footage. Just another bedroom that Pennyworth only entered long enough to clean the gathering dust. Sometimes Father stood in the doorway and Damian imagined he saw that grinning boy sprawled atop the bright blue coverlet, homework and comic books spread around him, an open box of Crocky Crunch turned over on the bedside table. A moment frozen in time and in the manor’s security files. In Damian’s weaker moments, he wondered if Grayson would have liked him. He ought to have been about twenty-eight now. Would they have been brothers-in-arms, someone he could trust and in turn placed his trust in Damian? The teen scoffed. It was a ridiculous train of thought, fanciful and childish, and Damian Wayne had more important things to consider.

Like the miniature assassin, who had apparently slipped his bonds again while Father was otherwise occupied. Grayson was in his space, pressing a small paring knife pilfered from the kitchen to his throat. And then he was slumped against him. Damian caught the boy under the arms and glared at his father just a few feet down the hall. He yanked the small dart that had just dumped the latest sedative cocktail that had been whipped up to deal with their high tolerances into Grayson’s bloodstream.

“I could have handled it.”

“I’m sure you could have, Master Damian.”

At the other side of the hall, Pennyworth was holding a silver tray with a china teapot that had a delicate blue lace design, two matching teacups on saucers, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Aromatic steam drifted out of the spout and the cookies looked like they’d come out of the oven recently.

“Shall we adjourn to Master Richard’s room?”

Damian rolled his eyes. As if that was actually a question and not an order. Father stepped forward, presumably to carry Grayson. Damian shifted his center and hefted the boy over his shoulder.

“I’m not an incompetent, Father.”

The man straightened his shoulders, looking Damian in the eye.

“I never thought you were.”

Something uncomfortable twined and twisted in his chest and he ducked his head. Grayson’s so called room was a six by six cell built into the very structure of the cave, just out of the line of sight of the main computer. The exterior wall was entirely transparent, shatterproof, bulletproof, but apparently not entirely Talon proof, which was just as well. Damian would have been severely disappointed if that was all it took to contain one of Father’s most persistent threats. A cot was pushed against the corner farthest from the door and a small table was next to it to serve for both bedside and dining uses. Unsecured as the limited furniture was, Damian wondered how and when Grayson would utilize it. He rarely used the bed for its intended purpose except during times like these. Damian dropped him onto the mattress, knowing Father was frowning behind him for apparent blasé handling. If Father wanted to think Grayson’s head hadn’t smack into the bedframe or wall due to luck that was his prerogative.

“Master Richard will be waking shortly,” Pennyworth set the tray down on the table. “I imagine he could do with some company while he enjoys his afternoon tea.”

“I suppose…” Father began.

“Those profiles won’t write themselves, Master Bruce. I’ll bring you a fresh cup of coffee and a sandwich.”

Father’s brows furrowed but he didn’t contradict the butler. Pennyworth prepared the tea to his and Grayson’s specifications, while the man wandered back to his work at the computer. Once Father was out of sight he brushed away a speck of nonexistent dust from his jacket.

“Do try to be polite, Master Damian.”

“Is this supposed to be some sort of play date?”

“Very astute of you, sir, although I believe tea party would be more apt.”

And with that Pennyworth took his leave. The door closed with a dull hiss and a click as it latched but the man didn’t bother to engage the lock. As he disappeared from sight, Damian leaned back against the cool stone, arms crossed, ankles crossed, textbook nonchalant. He waited for Grayson to jerk back to consciousness. It didn’t take long. Wide blue eyes landed on Damian almost the instant they were open, everything about him tense and alarmed.

“It hasn’t even been ten minutes,” Damian told him.

Some of that tension loosened and fell away. Damian watched him for any sign of attack.

“Pennyworth prepared tea which I am supposed to join you for.”

Grayson cocked his head, “And cookies.”

“Yes,” Damian paused, awkwardly. “And cookies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I s2g this was gonna be a fight scene with violence and quips and sad but then Alfred showed up like “NOPE. It’s tea time.”


	3. The Time Has Come...To Talk of Many Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For pandakeewee's prompt: damian Wayne and dick Grayson darkdick, robin/damian. Dick holding damian hostage and maybe some deep talk of true feelings and some kissy kissy lol the Bruce shows up and interrupts them. Pretty please I need so good angst!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously there's stuff missing between the last chapter and this. I'm not sure when I'll get around to filling in the details.

Blood dripped down the side of Damian’s face, bright red and still hot, which might have been concerning if it were his. Except for a few minor aches and bruises that came with the territory of being caught and subsequently restrained to an unfortunately sturdy chair, he was relatively unharmed. The same could not be said for Grayson’s latest handler. The woman’s body, sturdy and large, hit the floor with a meaty thud while her head rolled to a stop against Damian’s laced boot. Damian wrinkled his nose. Really, what had she expected with the Talon’s long line of dearly departed trainers? Grayson flicked his blade clean as he stepped over the body, uncaring of the pooling blood that sloshed under his feet. He stopped in front of Damian.

Chronologically-speaking Grayson was twenty-eight years old. However, after deeming him uncooperative but too talented to scrap, the Court had put him to rest when he was fourteen and so fourteen he stayed. Every so often they brought him out of retirement with foolish hopes that he could be bent to their will. And every time he rewarded them with a higher body count in court members and the occasional assigned target. The Court had certainly broken the Batman’s former protégé, but he hadn’t cracked where they wanted him to.

“Well?” Damian asked. “Aren’t you going to untie me?”

Grayson cocked his head, “You did that almost twenty minutes ago.”

Damian huffed and leaned forward to untie his legs.

“If you knew that then you didn’t need to,” Damian gestured to the handler’s glassy-eyed head next to his foot, “dispose of her when she threatened me.”

His legs free, Damian straightened but before he could stand, Grayson sat on his lap. Although Damian was only physically a year older, the Talon was petite in a way that he just wasn’t. It was disarming to those that didn’t know better. Damian had to learn that firsthand, but most didn’t get a second chance when they came up against Grayson.

“Now she definitely can’t follow through on it,” he said.

Damian leaned back, “There wouldn’t have been a threat to make if you hadn’t taken me hostage in the first place.”

“How else are we supposed to spend time together?”

“You could visit, like a normal person. Pennyworth would probably fall over himself to cater to your awful palate.”

Grayson’s mouth quirked upwards but his smile wasn’t quite natural, not like it was in Father’s old photos.

“And then Bruce can lock me back up in that nice little cell while he tries to put my pieces back where he wants them?”

There was nothing Damian could say that wouldn’t fall flat on Grayson’s fractured psyche. And he wasn’t entirely wrong. Father had lost three of his Robins and here Grayson was, a chance to get one of them back in a way that he would never have Todd or Brown again. Damian doubted the Court could even sincerely conceptualize such a motive. They thrived on the destruction of children. No matter how different the motive or goal though, both the Court and his father wanted something from Grayson and they cared little about his consent.

“A public setting then,” Damian said with an air of nonchalance.

Grayson leaned in, resting an arm on Damian’s shoulder and propping his head up on his hand.

“Like a date?”

Damian blushed. Their faces were so close Grayson’s dark hair tickled Damian’s cheek. Then it was too cool lips brushing his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“We could pretend to be normal teenagers,” Grayson continued quietly, picking at the stylized R over Damian’s heart with his nail. “Go out for dinner and a movie.”

“Tt.”

“Art museum?”

“…I suppose that would be more tolerable.”

“Either way,” Grayson pulled back a little, his voice flat, “it’s only hypothetical.”

“It,” Damian reddened, “it doesn’t have to be.”

Grayson toyed with Damian’s cape, his lips upturned but his eyes empty.

“Even if they weren’t going to retire me again after tonight’s disobedience, you’ll outgrow me.”

Damian opened his mouth but he had no words. Instead he watched the shadows behind Grayson, his brow furrowed and his mouth turned down.

“It’s all right. I want you to grow up,” he smoothed his palms across Damian’s shoulders. “You can tell me about it when I wake up.”

He turned his focus back onto Grayson and hesitated a moment before grasping the younger-older boy’s face between his gloved hands and pulling him into a kiss, all passion and no finesse. Grayson didn’t seem to mind and pressed back into Damian until he jerked, a tiny injured noise slipping out of his throat. Damian wrapped his arms around Grayson’s slim waist tightly as he slumped and listed to the side. He clumsily slapped at the back of his neck, dislodging a small dart that hit the old warehouse’s concrete floor with a quiet double ting. Confused, Grayson blinked dumbly at him, not even able to hold his head up as the tranquilizer did its near instantaneous work.

“You…” his voice was breathy, weak, and thick with hurt.

Damian swallowed the apology heavy on his tongue. A useless, insincere platitude. If it meant saving Richard, Damian would betray him a thousand times over. Batman stepped out of the shadows, his mouth turned down in what might have been interpreted as general displeasure by the unfamiliar but what Damian knew was sorrow and self-loathing. As Richard’s eyes fluttered shut, Damian held him close and pressed his face to the other boy’s nape, where he smelled vaguely of expensive shampoo, blood, and mineral oil.

“You won’t sleep so long, beloved.”


	4. After Such Kindness, That Would Be a Dismal Thing to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For potating-sloth's prompt: Dick with no memories stabbing Damian?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure at what point this happens, if it happens in the fic at all.

Damian twisted to the side but the Talon’s sharp knife still found purchase in his shoulder, hot cold pain radiating through him as the slighter boy’s weight drove him into the ground with a thud. Crouched on top of Damian’s chest, he yanked the blade out.

"Grayson,"

Damian caught the boy’s wrist on the downfall and squeezed hard, the delicate bones shifting in his grasp, but the Talon wouldn’t give up his weapon.

"Richard."

His smooth face was blank, so blank. What had the Court done? Damian reached out with his other hand, gauntlet brushing against the Talon’s pallid cheek.

"Beloved."


	5. A Smutty Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a couple smutty dD prompts I got way back when. Porn ahoy!

Damian licked his bottom lip, admiring the perfection of Richard splayed out on backseat, his entire body naked and sweaty, sticking to the black leather. The seat dipped as Damian put more weight on his knee between the younger-older teen’s legs, while he added a third finger to Richard’s lube slicked hole. His firm abdomen was a mess of pre-cum and Damian smeared his palm over it. Richard arched, hooking his leg over Damian’s shoulder.

“I want it,” he panted. “Damian. Damian please.”

Damian shivered, that breathy voice nearing undoing him without even opening his pants. He pulled his fingers out, a terrible vulgar squelch that made them both moan, and fumbled with his uniform pants and then the condom he’d stolen from Drake’s room. He pressed against Richard’s tight pucker painfully slow, head just popping inside before Richard was shoving back against him.

“Ngh!”

Damain groaned and braced himself above him, unsure he would make it beyond the initial thrust, all around him Richard quivering, his hot body pulling at Damian’s cock. He squeezed his hips with both hands, gritting his teeth.

“Behave,” he ground out.

Richard grinned, all gleaming white teeth, hair haphazard and sticking to his face, blue eyes dark and staring at the car roof, testing Damian’s grip on his hips.

“It’s okay if you come before me.”

Damian scoffed, sweat running down his temples, “I won’t.”

“Maybe I want you too. Maybe I want to come knowing I dragged it out of you.”

Damian eased back with a sneer.

“Maybe I should fuck you until you shut up.”

Then shoved further in. Richard’s breath stuttered, his fingers digging into Damian’s biceps.

“O-oh! Yes,” he groaned. “You could do that too.”

He squirmed and rocked back on Damian’s cock, their rhythm unsteady but hard. Richard tightened around him, so close, straining what little was left of Damian’s control.

“Harder,” he begged. “Harder. Hurt me.”

Damian leaned in awkwardly to kiss and bite at his lips.

“Only like this, beloved.”

Their flesh slapped together, as punishingly as Damian could. Pressure building up in his abdomen bordering on the painful. Each little moan and whimper molten in his veins. Damian clenched his jaw. This was going to be embarrassingly short.

“Damian, Damian,” Richard chanted as he tipped over the edge, arching off the seat and splattering his stomach and Robin’s tunic.

“Damian,” Father’s deep voice boomed.

Damian jerked but he was too close, too close to stop for his father’s resonating disapproval. He tasted copper as he bit down on his bottom lip, coming hot into Richard’s beautiful body. They both slumped, out of breath. Richard curled his leg around his hip, eyes less hazy but still dark, while Damian took several slow deep breaths before looking over his shoulder at the man scowling behind him.

“You’re home early, Father.”


End file.
